


Death And The Maiden

by Broba



Series: The Races [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Racing, Other, Psychic Abilities, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broba/pseuds/Broba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Directly following on from "Tomorrow Is A Soar Race," Gamzee's team now face a fearsome competition, a relay Zoom race where they must all give everything they have just to survive, let alone compete. On top of the other teams vying for position, Gamzee has to worry about the fact that this is Karkat's first race- the little mutant is fast but untested and this is his maiden race.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_All the days of my life,_ he thought, _all the days of my life. All the days I owe you._  
  
Karkat took a deep breath and walked into the hush of the track. The people were still filling the brightly lit stands, there were knots of crowd developing but it was nothing like how it would be when the time came. His back itched. He had stood patiently while Tavros applied the chalky white paint to his back, a deaths' head between his wings, the sign of his Master. They would all bear that mark as they flew. He closed his fist around the chain bearing a small iron ingot stamped with his Master's sign and wound it carefully around his arm. It was deliberately awkward, it couldn't be simply slung around his neck and forgotten, he would have to keep his mind on it all the time and hang on to the chain for dear life- the race was only won if he were carrying it when three laps were complete.  
  
Back along the tunnel leading out into the track, underneath the pounding stadiums filled with the racing fans, there was a forest of rooms. Feeding blocks, ablution blocks, respite blocks. They were lit by square gratings cut into the stone above, and the only real source of light were the thousand shafts of light through the gratings from the huge floodlamps that lit up the whole course. The light was varying and flickered as people moved around above, blocking off and revealing light beams as they passed. The gratings were tiny and the stone was thick; most trolls never realised they were treading right above the heroes of the track.  
  
Gamzee reclined fitfully in one of the blocks, that had been given over to his team for this tournament. The light flickered off his face paint, his features seemed to shift and dance even though he was still. Tavros was rubbing his shoulder, concerned, and Aradia walked up with an infusion of mild sopor and faygo in a goblet adorned with subjugglator symbology.  
"He's not ready, he's not fuckin' ready," Gamzee kept repeating. "Is he ready?"  
"It's always rough, uh, the first time out," said Tavros quietly, "it's really rough. I, I think he's as ready as he's going to be."  
"Drink this," Aradia gave him the cup and he drained it in one go, letting out a deep sigh.  
"He's fuckin' fast though," mused Gamzee, "I never seen anyone faster."  
"He's going to be the best," Tavros nodded sagely, "try not to worry. We'll be with him."  
"We will," agreed Aradia, but she gave Tavros a nervy glance. His newly repaired legs glittered in the weak light, shining and perfect, but they were untried in a real race.  
"I don't fuckin' like it," mused Gamzee, "gives me a shiver in m' chuckles. Two fiver teams, one four-team and one three-team. Bad odds."  
  
He had a point. The maximum number of flying trolls that could fly in a team was five, and the dynamics of the race changed critically depending on the makeup of each team. A fiver team of five trolls could afford to hold one, even two in reserve to add in a boost of fresh power at the end. A four team similarly could allow each member to take less of the strain individually, but a three-team couldn't allow any mistakes, and every member had to be absolutely committed and perfectly in tune with the others. With no ability to substitute it was all or nothing from the start. Gamzee liked to live on a knife edge and knew how to get the best out of his three-team against all comers but still... they were outnumbered by all of their opponents.  
  
"It's not all bad news," said Aradia soothingly, stroking her hand over his stomach, "we've been over this a thousand times. Once we get a strong lead from the start they'll take each other down while they think we're not a threat. I imagine that our smaller number may even work in our favour in the end."  
"You're tryin' to make me feel better," Gamzee grinned, "thanks."  
Like all subjugglators and most gamblers, Gamzee was intensely superstitious when it came to his gut feelings and it was no small thing persuading him to push ahead. The team wanted this as badly as he did though, they wanted it because he wanted it. They would do anything for their Master, they had discussed it in private when he thought they were sleeping and they were of one mind. They were in the race for the win, and for him.  
“I'll admit it though,” Gamzee said in a low voice, “this one... got me fuckin' scared for you guys.”


	2. Chapter 2

The great Zoom Race track was filling around it's terraced rim. The entire affair was underground, nestled within a massive cave formed from an ancient caldera that had been expanded and opened out. The cave walls including the high dome arcing overhead were encrusted with mineral salts in striated deposits that painted them in vivid rust, acid yellow and cobalt blue. The dome twinkled like a stony sky overhead n the reflected light of the enormous lamps.  
  
The team had been establishing their strategy right up until the last possible moment, there were too many shifting variables to hold to a rigid doctrine. The key tactical decisions concerned when to swap out racers.  
  
The actual racing took place on and above an elliptical track that extended the length and breadth of the stadium. The outer walls of the tracks actually contained five secondary tracks, layered one on top of another, and the walls were punctured with wide openings at regular spacings. Each outer track, known as a circlet, belonged to one of the teams although they were rarely all occupied- in this case the highest circlet was unused. The team mates were free to move around the circlets in order to leap out into the racing area at any point they wished. At any time each team was permitted two members on the track- one racing, and one waiting to take over the relay. The key was ensuring that the handover was smooth and kept up the racing momentum which meant that the teams had to predict in advance where around their circlet to have their replacement flyers waiting to leap out. By keeping the circlets thus separated, no team could be sure exactly when their opponents were going to swap out team members and when, for example, a sprinter might be replaced by a more burly blocker or a crusher. The terminology for the different racer types and their strengths and weaknesses, along with swapping strategies, filled volumes. The two fiver teams could have substitutes at more regular intervals, or swap out team members in an emergency, which gave them flexibility.  
  
On the other hand, the handover between racers when the crest of the team was passed from one racer to the next was the most dangerous time for them, if the crest could be intercepted and tossed to the baying crowds then it was over for a team- the crowd almost never threw them back- meaning that the fiver teams had to go through almost twice the risky handovers that Gamzee's three-team did. There was no throwing of the crest, and certainly no kinetics were permitted. It had to go from the hand of one racer to another, and if it was lost then the next racer had to either search desperately for it or concede defeat. Even to survive three laps was an achievement for a team, new or poorly skilled racers were regularly left broken by the experience.  
  
Gamzee brought his fists together slowly and rubbed the flat surfaces of his curled forefingers together gently. The others could tell he was thinking about whether he truly wanted to commit to this race. There would be no shame in departing even at this late state, slaves could be bought and sold at any time and it was an entirely valid tactic to make deals with the opposition right up until race time, purchasing each other's star racers or bribing strong opponents to depart. If there was any honour in a Zoom Race then it lived only above the sandy track when the race was begun, there was none to be found before or after. Gamzee looked up and nodded curtly, and Aradia left to fetch Karkat.  
  
When the little mutant was brought before his Master he did his best to look unconcerned and bold, puffing out his little chest. He wore the same tight singlet as they all did, but even the smallest size wrinkled loosely around his midriff and Gamzee wanted nothing more then to gather him up and keep him safe, and away from the race. But he wouldn't, and he couldn't. This was more to him then life and his slaves understood that. Karkat stepped closer to him and bowed formally, just like a true racer, and Gamzee grinned wryly.  
"There's my lil' miracle," he chuckled, "c'mere!"  
He grabbed Karkat and cupped his chin thoughtfully, reaching down beside him to where a bowl of the chalky bone-white paint he wore himself lay. He started to draw carefully over Karkat, who didn't move. When he was done Karkat's face was obscured by the visage of the subjugglators. He beckoned to Tavros and Aradia and repeated the process, painting them patiently and carefully.  
"You don't have to do one more fuckin' thing in your lives to make me so proud of you as I am now," he said hesitantly, "fly for your own fuckin' pride."  
They nodded solemnly, sharing the moment in perfect silence.  
  
Atop the highest terrace of the track, a herald approached the massive curving bone horn of an ancient long-slain lusus mounted there as a mark of honour, the great bahoon, and blew three short blasts on it. The time had come for the racers to assemble, and from that moment the stands began to fill rapidly as trolls came to take their seats. Great screens set up to show a close view of the race flicked into life, one of them mounted above each of the twelve pericycles of the track.  
  
Gamzee walked along the tunnel leading out into the light with his racers. Theirs was the lowest circlet- advantageous in some circumstances, not in others. Tavros was muttering under his breath as they walked.  
"Seventh pericyle check, eight pericycle move out to the edge, handover eleventh pericycle-" The wall of the track was brightly coloured in bands of colourful stone among the strips of beige brickwork, and each pericycle had its' own colour starting with the Indigo, or imperial pericycle, and leading around to the Black pericycle- the unnamed. Racers always referred to them by number so that they could shout instructions more precisely to their team mates.  
"Tenth pericycle, I'll be there," said Aradia soothingly, "I'll be watching for you, don't be afraid if you have to duck in early, I'll be ready."  
"We're all ready," said Karkat hotly. He couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear, he was so proud of his fearsome face paint. They were not the first team to race under the banner of the subjugglators, but they were the first to be so intimately close to one of the dread clowns.  
"Tav," said Gamzee softly, and Tavros stopped and turned to him obediently. Gamzee wrapped a long arm around Tavros' hard shoulders and pressed him on the breastbone with a fist gently. Tavros drew his mouth in a tight line and nodded.  
  
Tavros would be their starter; though he was principally an endurance flyer and not a speeder, his metal legs gave him a killer head start and he could take a lot of punishment. His job was to get out in front early and avoid the worst of the fighting that characterised the start of each race, he had to hang on while the field thinned before handing over to Aradia who would be their backbone. As the race headed into the final lap Karkat would be the one to take them home with a final burst of speed, he was the ace up Gamzee's sleeve, but an untried ace. An untested ace, and so small. By the final lap a Zoom Race was all about speed, the fighting would be done with by then and it would come down to a flat out struggle for the finish line.  
  
Tavros walked out into the artificial light blazing down and took his position up on a starting pillar, just as alongside him the members of the other three teams did likewise. None of them looked left or right, they kept their heads down and whatever the thoughts of a starter in a Zoom Race they did not share them.  
  
Aradia walked away to take up her position at the tenth pericycle, and Karkat went with her, he only had to get as far as the third pericycle which was the point at which he was intended to enter the race on the third lap. Of all of them Aradia would be out racing for the longest, though it would be for nothing if Karkat couldn't make his handover and finish.  
  
Gamzee made his way in silence up to the second pericycle, coloured with subjugglator purple stripes, where he had an honoured position in a private box. The glare of the sands and the bright stone track walls was blinding and took some getting used to but he never wore dark glasses as some did. Each pericycle had a private box or balcony of some sort, in a descending order of social importance. The black pericycle had no such amenity, and was frequented only by the poorest and the occasional slave granted a leave. In the Imperial box, just above the starting pillars at the first pericycle, his own patron the Grand Highblood would be waiting. He was the highest ranking dignitary present and, in effect, personally represented the indigo royalty by being in that box- the highest of honours. The view was perfect, the conditions were right. The air was neither stiflingly warm or wing-stiffeningly cool. He gazed around the crowded arena pensively, and looked up as his old friend Eridan entered the box, along with the Yellow slave who he had seen fighting earlier. Gamzee beamed wide, it was good to have a friendly face near even if Eridan was affecting a distinctly aloof air as though he were sullying his dignity by attending a race.  
"Fuck, brother. I thought you wouldn't make it!"  
"Sol, Sit," the slave did on the floor at their feet, wordlessly, and Eridan flounced to a plush seat next to Gamzee. "Uw-well I did have some second thoughts, but you uw-were good enough to come to a fight and I had nothin' better goin' on."  
"Aw-w-w you won't regret it, this is gonna be fuckin' amazin' bro. I got a miracle I'm gonna throw out there today."  
Eridan frowned and leaned over slightly, "Uw-why are you afraid?"  
"Shit! How you always do that to a motherfucker? It's like you see in my head and shit."  
"There's a trick it. I'll show you uw-one day."  
"For real?"  
"No."  
"Why you always got to be such a hardass, bro?"  
"Hey don't hate me for it, I uw-was just born bad."  
Gamzee laughed and hugged him, and the shell cracked for a moment as Eridan grinned right back. It had been too long since they had shared each other's time properly like this, and they both felt a little giddy with the excitement of re-acquaintanceship. Even the usually dour and uncommunicative Sollux looked on in wry amusement.  
  
The great bahoon sounded again in a long blast that carried over the crowd, and there was a semblance of hush. The Grand Highblood stepped to the fore of his box, where a balcony projected out over the track, and held his massive arms aloft. He was enormous, towering three and four times taller then the lower blooded majority, and as he took this position every troll in the audience was up on their feet and roaring in raw adulation, a sound that ricocheted and repeated around the stadium in a painful throbbing vortex of noise. The Highblood made a gesture, patting his hands downwards in a mocking show of effortless control, and the crowd quieted at his command. He grinned under his white paint and held a microphone to his mouth.  
"People!" There was a roar.  
"People," he called, "bring the fucking HUSH!" And there was silence, this time total silence. "We're here to race, that's what brings every motherfucker in. That's what makes us strong, for we know how to sort out the weak and raise UP the the righteous."  
  
"He really knows how to uw-work the crowd," whispered Eridan.  
"For real, he's the fuckin' best subjugglator ever, ain't no one got the power like he does."  
  
The Highblood extended one arm, slowly passing it over the full sweep of the vista before him, breathing heavily into the mike.  
"Hear me now," he hissed, "listen up you laughin' faces and hungry grins, hear me you fuckers and all the fucked, listen to the captain of clowns, the main mirth maker, the laughter master! I'm feelin'-" the hand started to waver and bob in midair, "I'm feelin' the chucklevoodoos comin'!"  
From the rapt crowd a noise, not words, a plain flat sound from a hundred thousand throats, low but rising.  
"It's a-comin' up here today-ah!" Roared the Highblood, "it's a-comin' into you all right here and now-ah!"  
The noise was turning into an oceaninic swell as the Grand Highblood whipped them into a fearful fury. Some of the trolls were swaying fitfully, some of them so overwhelmed by the communal experience had passed out. In the purple pericycle the subjugglators were going insane. Gamzee too was not immune, he was clutching at the arms of his seat and rocking back and forward tensely repeating over and over the words of the Highblood back at him, bringing out the chucklevoodoo. Eridan knew of such things in the abstract sense, from the rumours and myths that abounded regarding the sercret rites of the subjugglators, but it was still something else entirely to feel the communal madness they conjured up touching upon a crowd, giving the merest hint to each troll, a glimpse of the subjugglator mind. The Highblood roared again over the crowd.  
"Can you dig it?"  
They cheered and stamped their feet.  
 _"Can you dig it?"_  
They screamed and threw up their hands.  
 _"CAN-"_ they begged him for mercy _"-YOU-u-u-"_ they were his, they were all his _"DIG I-I-I-I-IT?"_  
  
The marshals had moved to their appointed position beside the track and the racers perked, crouching down and unfurling their wings. The three of them raised their flags. The two outer marshals lowered their flags and the racers began to beat their wings, faster and faster. At the agreed moment, the point when the crowd was at the peak of the frenzy, the third flag came down and the race began.


	3. Chapter 3

Tavros leapt forwards with all the power in his mechanical legs propelling him at terrific speed ahead of the pack. It was a good start, and his only concern was maintaining it as long as he could. Behind him, a scrummage immediately formed without warning.  
  
The art of Zoom Racing was fundamentally divided between two activities- getting around the track as fast as physically possible, and preventing the other racers from doing so. Racers were permitted to use practically any degree of violence to these ends. A scrummage was the name given to a knot of racers in open combat with each other rather then racing. A successful scrummage was one which occupied as many racers as possible, in order not to give an advantage to any racer able to avoid it, and resulted in the maiming or death of at least one racer. This meant that scrummages were common, short and brutal especially at the beginning of the race. The two fiver teams had clearly decided on their priorities, and the fiver racers leapt on each other the moment the race began, hacking and clawing at each other with all their strength.  A good, crowd-pleasing race contained a healthy amount of scrummaging and many famous races in the past had ended with no survivors, let alone a victor.  
  
Gamzee was on his feet instantly yelling encouragement, his team were ahead early and critically Tavros had been able to avoid the first scrummage. This was a major hurdle they had anticipated, a scrummage was a lethal trap and difficult to escape if the other racers were insisting on a fight.  
"Uw-what's happenin? Uw-when are they goin' to race?"  
"They're racing, bro! It's happening right now!"  
"Those two are just fightin' though!"  
"Sure, got to have a scrummage in a Zoom Race, it's all part o' the fun!"  
At their feet kneeling down with his chin on the railing of the box, Sollux shifted slightly and purred. Eridan reached out subconsciously to grip a fist in his hair tightly, just to let him know who was there, "Uw-well maybe there's more to this then I thought. Uw-what's the betting like on your team?"  
"We got an SP of seven-to-one on the nose, quarter return on an each-way. But the real money is in the mid-race accumulators," answered Gamzee without having to think about it for even a second.  
"Fuck, I like that price, I might just put on a little uw-wager!"  
"Do it man, get into the spirit of this motherfucker!"  
  
Tavros cleared the first pericycle with ease and unfurled his wings to their fullest, beating hard against the air. His repaired legs were still stiffer then he liked and the weight distribution wasn't right yet. He could feel his pace slacking as his wings bit the air and he wore through the last of the momentum his start had given him. Behind him, the racer on the four-team had also escaped the scrummage and was pulling in fast. He was faster by a fraction then Tavros, and was gaining inexorably as they zipped through the third pericycle. Tavros felt something brush against him and kicked out automatically, but too late. The racer got a hold on him around the waist and bore down with all his weight. Tavros shrieked in surprise and tumbled, they hit the ground together and rolled through dust and sand.  
  
Tavros grunted into the sand, he had a face full of it and he felt a knee driving into his back painfully. His shoulder still hurt where he had injured it in a recent Soar Race. He felt something warm, then hot, then realised that he was burning and screamed.  
  
Gamzee leaned over the rail, holding up a pair of binoculars to his eyes. His other hand on the rail gripped tight enough to make his knuckles as white as his face paint.  
"Fuck!"  
"Uw-what's happening? I can't see!"  
"Thionicth," said Sollux, breathing heavily, "it'th a burner, if your thlave doethn't do thomething he'th fucked!"  
  
The four-team slave was an Orange like Tavros, and indeed was a psionic. He was staring intently down at the pinned racer while a flickering yellow-white pinpoint of light started playing over his back, blackening the racing singlet. Tavros gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate, blocking the thought of his skin burning from his mind. He flexed his legs and drew his heels back as hard as he could. One of them connected with something soft and the slave pinning him shrieked. Tavros heaved and rolled, and whipped out the iron crest of his Master on the end of its' chain. The thick ingot connected with the jaw of the four-team racer and there was a dull crunch.  
  
"He's up!" Yelled Eridan, "he's up again!"  
"Ayup," breathed Gamzee, but he felt no relief. Tavros hadn't wasted any time in trying to cull the four-team member which might have been a strategic error, instead he got airborne again as soon as he got to his feet without looking back.  
  
The scrummage finished when one racer caught the other with a horn in the gut and flew away in a shower of rusty blood. The wounded racer was able to go on, just, but they were at a severe disadvantage. Perhaps to make up a little in the rankings, the wounded slave descended on the four-teamer that Tavros had downed. The Orange had got up unsteadily, clutching his jaw, but he was disoriented and staggered, which was his doom. The wounded Rust leapt on him with a choke-hold from behind and squeezed the life out of the unfortunate slave. The substitute flyer for that five-team had enough time to get close enough to take the crest, and they were back in the race. The four-team had lost too much time now and they knew it, the dead slave was removed from the track and there were three teams left in the contest.  
  
Tavros found himself now up against one racer flush with blood lust after winning the initial scrummage, a Rust, and another who was fresh into the race after replacing their wounded comrade, a Yellow. Either one of them would have been more then a problem, and together they were closing on him from behind with an obvious intent. The two five-teams were eager for a scrummage to earn back some of the blood debt between them, but this time they weren't going to make the mistake of letting Tavros out in front and fully intended to involve him in it. He heard them at either side of him, the slowly approaching thrum of wings. His shoulder felt like it might have dislocated again, and on his back he could feel cold wetness which he didn't like to think about, Tavros knew he was in no shape to fight free of a scrummage against two other racers.  
  
The scrummage began when the Yellow drove down against Tavros from above, but this time Tavros was ready and spun around in mid air to lash a leg out, hurting the Yellow. The Rust was on top of him immediately, punching him across the face and grappling with him. Tavros hit the ground again, and he thought that he might have blacked out for an instant. He opened his eyes, and the Rust hit him again hard. He was blinded by his own blood and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear them as he wrestled with the Rust. He caught a glimpse through blood streaked eyes at the Rust kneeling up on his chest, raising a hand up wearily to punch him one last time. Tavros twitched and tensed his neck, tilting his horns as the fist came down. He was lucky, and the Rust connected only with rock-hard horn, shattering his third and fourth knuckles. Tavros kicked away and rolled to his feet. The Yellow had collided with a wall but was coming for him now. Tavros reached down and picked up the iron crest of the Rust, holding it up for the Yellow to see, and deliberately dropping it to the sand a little distance away as he took off. It was too great a temptation and the Yellow changed direction to seize on the vulnerable crest of the enemy rather then waste energy chasing Tavros. The Yellow kicked the Rust savagely and snatched up the crest, howling victoriously and swinging it around in a wide arc to toss it into the waiting grasping arms of the crowd- without their crest the team could not race, it was now down to two teams.  
  
Tavros was weeping openly as he pulled in to the side when he hit the sixth pericycle, he was wavering with exhaustion and the fiver-team was taking the opportunity to swap out their Yellow for their third flyer. Tavros made it to the seventh pericycle and let his arm hand limp at his side, the chain with the iron crest dangling in the air. He could already see Aradia taking to the air determinedly to head for him.  
"Nuh," he moaned, "too soon, eleventh-" he tried to pick up speed, roaring with the effort as he drove his wings with the last reserves of energy in his body. He almost collided with Aradia at the ninth pericycle, they embraced in mid air and she yanked the crest chain from his unresisting fingers.  
"Get off the track!" She yelled, her voice sounded like it was coming to him from far away and he nodded mutely but he could barely stay aloft. Aradia slid an arm under his and helped him, pushing him roughly into the alcove of their circlet but losing precious seconds in doing so. A Rust flashed past her, and they fell into second- and last- place. As soon as Tavros touched down she was away and flying for all she was worth.  
  
"I don't believe those fuckin'-" Eridan was shaking, "are uw-we gonna lose?"  
"Not yet bro," hissed Gamzee, "I just need Aradia to keep it together 'till I can play my ace."  
But he was losing confidence. Aradia had to manage three pericycles just to make it to the beginning of the second lap, and then make it to the third pericycle of the third lap where Karkat was waiting for his handover. It was a full lap and a half, not to mention she had lost ground by helping Tavros. Their lead was evaporated and the opposing team had a fresh flyer in front with two more substitutes against Gamzee's one.  
"Uw-what's the betting on the other team?" Asked Eridan, and when he caught Gamzee's look he added, "just 'cause I'm curious."  
"Three-to-two on the nose."  
"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?"  
Gamzee shook his head.  
"Uw-well I'm glad I bet a heap on your team then, there's no whale I'd go for shitty short odds like that."  
Eridan took to staring at the track stonily through binoculars and Gamzee grinned and clapped him on the back.  
"Thanks for the motherfuckin' vote of confidence, you're the best."  
"I am the fuckin' best, it's me."  
  
Aradia tried to pace herself and conserve her energy. Her opponent was two pericycles ahead and pulling away. She didn't have the speed to take them, but that didn't mean they were slowing up any. The Rust was holding nothing back, setting a pace she couldn't hope to maintain. Slowly, but surely, the even pace Aradia set began eating into the distance between them. The Rust had spotted her coming, and spread her arms out wide. Eight deep furrows appeared in the sand of the track behind her and sand flew up into the air in telekinetically impelled clouds that spiralled tightly after the Rust. Aradia snarled and clenched her fists, concentrating on parting the sandstorm before her like curtains on a stage. She split the waves of telekinetic force and forged a narrow, tight furrow through the storm.  They started to follow a zig-zagging path, as the Rust tried to create a constantly shifting miasma to blind Aradia, who countered with rapid, random movements to perplex her enemy and present an ever changing target.  
  
They blazed into the second lap, clearing four more pericycles together ever closer to each other. The Rust called out and spiralled to the wall towards a handover. Aradia finally cleared the distance between them and when the enemy team swapped in their fourth flyer Aradia found herself on an equal footing in the race. She knew that she had one purpose and one purpose only- to reach Karkat and give him the shot and victory for them all. She lowered her head and concentrated, using her telekinetic abilities to clear the last of the sand from the air before her. She did not try to focus on her enemy, she thought of nothing but the upcoming handover.  
  
As the middle-racer she was the strategic heart of the team and her choices would determine their course. She had already taken a risk by taking over from Tavros early, and the price of that was the weariness she felt in her wing struts as the pericycles flashed past. When the Orange racer moved to overtake she didn't contest- fighting for air she conceded the innermost course around the track and the Orange slipped past under her. It was all she could do to keep going. She glanced around and picked out the third pericycle beyond the finishing line, approaching rapidly. The Orange was too far ahead of her. She reached out with her mind, invisible fingers grasping and pulling at the Orange through the air. she felt him resisting and redoubled her efforts. Flying and using her telekinesis at the same time would weary her even faster and she knew she was risking their entire team. Ahead of her the Orange started to buck and waver in the air, he was fighting for purchase and struggling against her mental grip.  
  
She pulled into the black pericycle as the Orange was passing the finish line into the third lap and gritted her teeth. Whatever time she had bought them, it would have to be enough. There was nothing left for them except speed, now. Aradia blinked as something hit her in the eye. She wiped a wrist across her brow and it came back rusty. She was bleeding, probably from her eyes, and from blood vessels close to the skin. The strain of the power she had expended was starting to tear her apart.  
  
She left a thin ruddy trail in the sand after her as she strained for more speed. Through blurring eyes she caught a flash of purest Red. Karkat, in his vivid singlet that matched his scarlet wings, leaning out over the track from the third pericycle alcove. Aradia smile to herself as she lost height. The gap had narrowed, she had made a lap and a half. She had flown through a storm and burned her mind clawing frantically at the enemy. At long last she had done her duty and her knees hit the sand with a shocking impact. She looked around herself dazedly; the markings on the wall so close to her were a deep cobalt blue. The third pericycle. Karkat was floating down towards her and she strained to stand, holding up the crest for him. He descended to her and took hold of the chain, before kissing her forehead.  
"Go," she whispered, "Karkat please,"  
"Yeah," he grinned viciously, unfurling his wings with a surprisingly loud clap, "it's my turn now."  
  
Gamzee cracked all of his knuckles ar once nervously. There he was, so small he was just a little red dot on the field.  
"Come on," he breathed.  
"Uw-what's going to happen?"  
"A fuckin' miracle," Gamzee clenched his fists, "come on,"  
"He's just standin' there."  
"I know,"  
"Uw-what's he uw-waitin' for?" Eridan was shaking with tension, and rhythmically pressing his fists to the railing. The crowd were all aware, too. They were watching as Karkat crouched over, he barely seemed to be moving.  
"Uw-what's happening!" Eridan nearly screamed, "he's not going to go!"  
"Just watch,"  
"I'm uw-watching shit! Uw-what's he uw-waiting for?"  
Under Karkat the sands shifted and swirled. He only seemed to be still because his wings were beating too fast to see. The crowd was becoming enraged, they were screaming and leaping, roaring as a mass. Karkat slowly rose into the air.  
"Fuckin' tell me!" Shrieked Eridan, "Uw-what's he uw-waitin' for?"  
Gamzee grinned. Karkat grinned down below. Gamzee spoke, and Karkat spoke, at once.  
  
 _"Showtime."_  
  
Karkat exploded. Where he stood there was only a violent grenade-blast of sand as he turned his wings to bite the air. He was a red streak that crossed the pericycle in a blink, and the crowd went wild. They rose up- each and every troll, and cried out at once. Not one living troll had seen a racer fly like that, he ripped into the air with an audible crack, trolls near the walls later swore that when he passed they had seen actual sparks flying from his wingtips, along with a thin trail of black smoke.  
  
Karkat pressed his hands by his thighs and hunched his head down against the rippling tearing wall of the wind. Alongside him he saw circlet alcoves flash past in black blurs, he could hear them as he passed. _Thip, thip, thip._ Karkat snarled and let out his wings, free at last to hold nothing back and be all that he was born to be. _Thipthipthipthipthip._  
  
The crowd was screaming, they couldn't believe it. They were seeing something new and they needed it. They were all crying out for him, for him alone, this was his race now. The Orange flashed past, overtaken easily. Contemptuously. Karkat spiralled through the air and span a helix around the Orange as he passed. The Orange pulled in to a handover on the ninth pericycle.  
  
"It's fuckin' over!" Screamed Eridan, "uw-we're gonna fuckin' uw-win!"  
"Ain't over!" Snarled Gamzee, "ain't never over till it's fuckin' over!"  
Sollux suddenly raised his head, swivelling like a hound on a scent. "Thomething'th happening!"  
"Uw-what are you uw-whinin' about now Sol?"  
"Thomething bad!"  
  
The other team handed over and their last racer took to the track. Sollux yelled,  
"It'th a fucking _Crusher!"_  
  
Karkat span into the final corner of the race, and stopped. The air around him felt thick and treacly, he couldn't move, he could barely breath. An invisible fist gripped him and tossed him backwards the length of a full pericycle. The crusher hovered, moving in slowly. A Yellow, big, brutal. This was the conclusion of many races- not a scrummage but a duel. The Yellow fully intended to kill Karkat to take the win. Karkat struggled like a fly on a line against the invisible forces holding him, and broke free for an instant. The crowds were wailing, the tension had them all. Massive gouts of earth were ripped free of the track, enormous globes of sand and dirt that were hurled at Karkat, and the little mutant had to weave and dart madly to avoid them.  
  
"Fuck!" Eridan beat his fists against the railing.  
"Karkat!" Gamzee yelled, but it was one voice in an ocean of voices, lost. Gamzee was shivering, he looked as though he were about to collapse.  
"Make a thubthituthion, now!"  
"I can't," Gamzee moaned in despair, "I go no one left to put out there! Karkat!"  
"You thtill got one," said Sollux, standing slowly. Eridan looked at him, and then at Gamzee, who stared in shock for a moment.  
"Fuckin' come on Makara, I got money ridin' on this!"  
  
The crusher sneered and floated closer to the chaos of flying debris and psychic energies he was creating. The little mutant was fast, almost too fast to hit, but that wouldn't keep him alive for long. In the lowest circlet Gamzee, Eridan and Sollux ran towards the alcove under the subjugglator's purple pericycle. They were halted by a stern race official at the entrance to the undercellars leading into the track.  
"Racers only! You can't be here."  
"It's my team in the race," Gamzee puffed for breath, holding up his personal crest- the mirror of the one Karkat now held, unsteadily. "I got a new slave, substitution. Substitution!"  
The official looked over at Sollux, "he is yours?"  
Gamzee fumbled in his pocket, flipped a coin into the air and Eridan caught it neatly. "He's fuckin' mine now! Get him out there!"  
  
It wasn't the first time in racing history that such last minute deals had been brokered, and the constantly shifting makeup of the teams was part of the allure. The official let them through. Gamzee and Eridan stood near the blazing light of the alcove as Sollux jogged past out onto the track, lifting himself easily into the air with his psionics.  
"You realise, I'm not really sellin' Sol to you," said Eridan, staring out at the unfolding drama.  
"Fuck no," replied Gamzee, "that was a thousand imperial coin!"  
Eridan looked down at the coin in his hand and raised his eyebrows. Gamzee grinned and held out a fist, and Eridan bumped it with a smirk.  
"You're a real solid motherfucker, you know that?"  
"Don't get all soppy on me Gam," said Eridan wryly, "I told you- I got _money_ ridin' on this."  
"Aww yeah! We'll make a gamblingant out of you yet motherfucker!"  
  
The crusher spread his brawny arms wide, curling his fingers in to slowly bring his hands together. Karkat was pinned between opposing fields of psychic force, dangling in the air and gasping for breath as his life was slowly pressed out of him.  
"Too bad, mutant," the crusher leered, "you're a cute one. Delicious little thing."  
A mound of rock big enough to crush Karkat utterly rose into the air, hovering above him, rotating slowly. Karkat looked up into his doom weighing heavily over him. It would end like this, entombed in heap of dirt, a failure. The boulder descended sharply to end his life- and stopped dead.  
  
"Hey ath-hole!" Came a high, reedy voice, "if you liked the main courthe, you'll love the thecondth!"  
The crusher turned in time to receive a psychic force blast to the chest that sent him flying. Sollux, hanging in the air, reached out with his mind and smashed the boulder apart, sending the debris flying harmlessly away. Sollux flew at the Crusher in a rage, and the two of them met in a crashing violent battle of wills. They were both surrounded by flickering globular fields of psionic plasma that bubbled and roiled against each other. The Crusher was used to being brought in as a killer when a racer had to be taken out of the equation, he was on his home territory and knew it. Sollux, on the other hand, was a raw fighter who enjoyed his task immensely. He had drunk deep of mind-honey until it held no fears for him at all any more.  
  
Sollux snapped his head back and yelled as a blast buffeted him, then charged the Crusher with an overwhelming heave of energy that made the ears and nose of every troll in the stands for three rows deep start bleeding. The Crusher was slammed against the stone wall and screamed in pain. Around him a perfect circle of stonework started to crumble and smash as the cone of force projected from Sollux drove against him like a hammer on a nail. The Crusher tried to move, tried to scream. The side of his face was pressed into splintering rock and he looked down in horror at his own arm pinned there, and saw blood vessels exploding under his skin with the waves of pressure wracking him. With one final cry the Crusher expired in a fountain of vivid yellow blood that exploded up the walls of the track and drenched many of the crowd. Sollux sighed softly as though it were all expected, and closed his eyes, sinking to his knees. He felt someone put their hand on his shoulder and brushed it away weakly, shaking his head. Something was pressed into his hand for a moment, frantically, something cold and metal, but he could barely grip and then it was taken away again.  
"Jutht go!"  
Karkat nodded, said something that was lost over the roar of the crowd, and he was away.  
"Yeah," said Sollux weakly to the spreading stain on the wall, "that'th how you _crush."_  
  
Karkat streaked across the finish to the untold adulation of the crowds, he span around in the air and took to the starting column of his team, holding the crest aloft and grinning a wild skull-faced grin. The race was concluded, and there was one left to stand in victory.  
  
Gamzee was out on the track before anyone, sprinting to where Karkat waited. The tiny mutant leapt down into his arms, his red wings buzzing madly as he was spun around and around. Gamzee kissed him all over his face and stroked his hair, it was all too much to form coherent sentences. They just shared each other, and the roar of the crowds. Gamzee threw up his arms and every subjugglator rose, stamping their feet and hailing their purple prince. Eridan was there, with Sollux hanging weakly off one arm, both of them smirking at him. Gamzee bear-hugged them and lifted them both easily for a moment in his exuberance before Eridan managed to wriggle free. Eridan flipped a coin into the air, and Gamzee caught it neatly.  
"What'd you say your lil' guy was called again?"  
"He's called Sollux."  
"You ever feel like makin' a racer out of him give me a call, okay?"  
"Sure, you hear that Sol? I got a buyer for you just uw-waitin'!"  
"Don't even think about it, Mathter."  
Eridan pulled him upright and kissed him, biting down on his lip. Sollux growled in pain and wrapped his arms around his beloathed Master, urging him for more.  
  
Gamzee finally turned to the royal box, holding a hand aloft to his patron, and frowned. The Grand Highblood was sitting, staring stonily ahead, he looked furious. Gamzee saw him say something, and shake his great maned head violently. The Highblood was not alone. Then, Gamzee saw a flash of colour as someone stood up beside him.  
"Oh, fuck," he said.  
"Uw-what is it now," Eridan grinned at him, then followed his gaze and he thought that the world had just come unglued when he saw who was talking to the Highblood.  
"Oh," said Eridan, "Fef."


	4. Chapter 4

"Eridan!" She said delightedly, "darling! Whatever are you doing here, I thought you disdained the races? How have you been?"  
"Hello, Fef," replied Eridan slowly. He had to fight to keep cool. He wanted to tell her everything, all at once. He wanted to tell her exactly how he had been. He wanted to scream every night he had spent in miserable self-loathing solitude back in her face. He wanted to bleed and tell her she was the one who cut him. He wanted to rage and accuse and cry, he wanted to kneel at her feet and beg her to return to him. He wanted to promise her everything and ruin himself if only she would pick up the pieces.  
"I've been fine," he said.  
  
Below the royal box, the next race was already being prepared. The crowd had been worked into a lather by the performance they had seen and the entire derby would be one to remember, but their race- the race that would be forever their race- was now a part of the history of the track. Gamzee  had been summoned to the box to give audience. As a true Indigo-blood royal Feferi could lay claim to all of the rights and honours accorded to her position, including congratulating the victors personally. Of course, as an Indigo-blood himself Eridan was welcome to go along with his friend. Gamzee couldn't tell whether he truly wanted to be there, or if he truly had any choice but to confront Feferi.  
  
"Gamzee Makara, purple prince of the subjugglators," Feferi beamed happily, "I'm so pleased that you won today!"  
Behind her, the Highblood was stonily silent. Something was very wrong and Gamzee knew it, but he could tell by the look on his patron's face that now was a time to listen quietly and take the lay of the land.  
"Tough race," he agreed, "my guys did me proud."  
"Ah-h-h yes, those wonderful slaves of yours!" She patted her hands together giddily, "the Empress will be pleased with them."  
"Fef?" Eridan said cautiously, "uw-what do you mean?"  
"Uw-well!" She mimicked his speech impediment with a slightly scornful grin, "uw-what do you think? I'm going to make a gift of them to Her Imperious Condescension, she does so like unusual things! I think she'll especially enjoy the mutant."  
"No!" Gamzee paled, even under his makeup. The Highblood shifted slightly, his expression was as clouded and inscrutable as ever.  
"Oh yes, purple prince! It's the highest honour, you must be so proud!" She grinned wider, but there was a coldness to her eyes as she watched Gamzee struggle to find the words.  
"But," he whispered, "you can't- they're my-"  
"Oh, silly, of course I can!" Feferi twisted the knife a little, "the races, the combat, the spectacle, it all exists purely to glorify the empire. And, while my dearest patroness is away... _I am the empire."_  
  
The crowds waved and cheered, they had everything they needed and wanted and the wishes of one troll or another meant nothing to them. A shapeless mindless mass of power, they lifted up those whom they chose, and cast down those with whom they became tired. Gamzee stared numbly out of the box, not seeing, not hearing. His fingers twitched loosely at his side, and when he swallowed he could hear the bitter foretaste of tears rattle around his throat.  
  
The Grand Highblood moved at last, he heaved a sigh and sat up straight, squaring his shoulders. Even seated as he was he towered over them effortlessly.  
"That's enough!" He snapped.  
Feferi looked over her shoulder, not turning. She gazed up at him expectantly. "Yes?"  
"That's enough Feferi. You can tell the Condesce, she will get what she wants, I understand her orders."  
Feferi turned with a happy grin and threw herself at the Highblood, embracing his massive leg tightly for a moment. "I'm so happy!" She trilled. "I knew you'd see sense if you had a good reason to!"  
"Leave Gamzee alone, and those who are his."  
"Of course, I have something even better to give the Condesce now." She patted his knee, "the gift of good news!"  
  
Feferi walked smoothly past Gamzee and nodded at Eridan, who was staring at her as if she were about to kill him.  
"Eridan. Darling. It's been a pleasure and I hope we can speak again." She touched his arm, and he flinched, "I do, do hope we can still talk to each other. You know how I always appreciated your help."  
Eridan nodded stiffly and formally, he was spent and had nothing left.  
The Highblood spoke again, his voice so deep and full carried easily, "you remind me of her."  
Feferi smiled, "do I? I'm so glad."  
"You smile like her, too."  
"I'm happy."  
"Ask her, some time," the Highblood leaned on his knee and grinned at her lasciviously, "who put that motherfuckin' smile on her face in the first place."  
Her lips pursed. The facade slipped for a moment, and they saw an image of someone who would happily burn them up inside their skins and all the while tell them how happy she was. Then the charm came back and she laughed softly.  
"You're so silly," but it was too late- the Highblood had caught her with that barb, and they all knew it. She left the box at a slow, stately pace, her retinue of female guardtrolls falling in smoothly beside her as she went.  
The Highblood made a shoo-ing motion at Gamzee, who was already starting with questions.  
"No boy, go. Got to see to your team." The Highblood tapped a finger on Gamzee's shoulder in a certain way, it was a code for not here, come to me later.  
  
They were in a state of shock as they left the royal box, a sense that they had witnessed something very important that they weren't truly privy to. Eridan started shaking, and squeezed his eyes shut. Gamzee hugged him close, buying him some dignity in the crowded area by embracing him tightly to hide the tears.  
"Thuh, thanks," Eridan murmured softly, "I jus' can't believe I jus' saw her. She uw-was stood right there and she looked right through me. I'm so fuckin' uw-weak-"  
"Shut up," Gamzee whispered, "this is some bad shit, brother, we got to be strong right now, okay?"  
"I'll try,"  
"What you gonna do?"  
"I need Sol right now," he sniffed, "I got to get this shit all out of me somehow, he knows how to take it when I get like this, I'm so sorry,"  
"Sure, sure, It's okay brother, don't even think it's a thing,"  
"I'll find out what Fef is up to Gamzee, I promise, I just need some time, I need Sol,"  
"Sure thing."  
  
Gamzee came down to where his team were recovering. All of them had slime analgesics hardening over their various wounds, and Tavros was still unconscious. Karkat screeched and ran for him, hugging him tightly around the waist. Gamzee grinned and ruffled his hair, beckoning to Aradia who made her way slowly and painfully over to his embrace.  
"I'm so fuckin' proud of you guys, I don't even know how to say it, like I don't have the words."  
"We know," Aradia said softly, "you don't have to."  
"Did you see!" Karkat was practically bouncing, "I've never been that fast before, did you see it?"  
"I sure did, lil' red. You were fuckin' miraculous out there, it's your day."  
Karkat sensed it before any of them and frowned, "what happened? What happened... something with the Highblood?"  
Gamzee stiffened slightly, it freaked him out slightly when Karkat did that.  
"I don't even know," he said quietly, "Feferi was there, representin' the Condesce. She was goin' to take you guys away from me, as a present for the Condesce. Said she'd enjoy you," they looked at him in shock, and he held up a hand, "I know... but the Highblood agreed to something, and she backed off. I dunno... I got this feelin' like there's some bad vibes all up in the chucklevoodoos."  
"The Highblood won't let anything happen," said Karkat, nodding firmly, "he's the best there ever was."  
Aradia was staring at him in concern, she looked less then reassured.  
  
The Highblood was waiting when Gamzee came to him, high up in the cliff side lair of the subjugglators, their hives carved deep into the bare rock where the sea air sent salty fingers through the winding black corridors and ancient rooms echoed to the chucklevoodoos.  
  
The Highblood was preparing his face when Gamzee was brought in to him by a whiteface who bowed respectfully and departed without a word. Gamzee felt a knot of fear in his gut when he saw his patron without a face on, he still remembered the first time he had ever see the Highblood so, he had been barely old enough to stand, and he'd screamed all night until he'd had a chance to see the safe comforting white skullface of his patron again.  
"Gamzee," sighed the Highblood. He was applying black to his face with a wide brush, in front of him below a mirror at his huge table was a line of pots, each with a differing blacktone. Tonight the Highblood was using the blackest, none-so-black paint.  
"What fuckin' happened out there?" Said Gamzee, his voice sounded plaintive and childish.  
"That how you want to talk to yore fuckin' Highblood?" He snarled suddenly. Gamzee straightened up immediately and yelled back at him,  
"What fuckin' happened out there?"  
"That's better. C'mere, Gam. Lookit me." The Highblood leaned down, so that Gamzee could see his face close-up. He was blacked out completely, his eyes glittered deep in the blackness of his paint.  
"You're talkin' like you're leaving."  
"I am leavin, Gamzee. The Condesce wants a crack division of subjugglators led by their Highblood personally to help secure some shit-far corner of the fuckin' empire."  
"Bullshit! She's already got all the fuckin' ships and soldiers she could ever need, you don't have to go!"  
"Gamzee," he sighed, "this ain't about fightin' the War Glorious. She wants me off Alternia, away from the subjugglators. And she wants me to go without a fight, and I will."  
"Why?"  
"'Cause if I don't," he paused, and clucked his tongue thoughtfully, "her lil' right hand bitch is gonna break yore heart right in front of me. I don't wanna see that."  
Gamzee felt a wave of shocking cold realisation wash over him. The way the Highblood had looked at him when Feferi had said the Condesce would enjoy his precious slaves, the way she had needled him like that right where the Highblood had to watch. She had been playing them both, and Gamzee had sung her tune just the way she wanted. He felt like he had betrayed his Highblood, and the massive hand clasping his shoulder let him know that the Highblood saw the sorrow in his eyes.  
"Now hush that shit up before you even start," he said in a low rumble, "you jus' remember one thing. The Condesce is the one who did this to us. She's afraid of us, she fears the chucklevoodoos, and she's right to!"  
"What's going to happen to you?"  
"I dunno. Maybe nothin'. I'll be back soon as I can, you know it. In the mean time, the righteous are gonna need their purple prince. Yore the one they'll look to now."  
"I can't fuckin' do it! Shit!"  
"I said hush it! You got the chucklevoodoos in yer, I seen them pure clear like I see yore righteous skullface in front of me now, and the subjugglators know one of their own, just trust the chucklevoodoos to bring 'em to you when you need 'em. They'll come to yore call when it's right."  
"What am I even supposed to be doin'? I don't even all up and know what I feel like, how do I tell the righteous what to do?"  
"Boy, you learned anythin' from yore Highblood? You don't tell 'em shit! You wait, and wait, and then..." The Highblood grinned.  
"Showtime."  
"You got it." The Highblood presses a fingertip gently against Gamzee's forehead, "fuckin' got it."  
  
Eridan made his way to his own opulent and plushly appointed quarters in the city, where Sol was waiting for him as instructed. He walked into the room that he had put aside for these moments they shared with each other, and Sol was there, naked. The room was round, with curving domed walls in deep terracotta lit by sputtering candelabras, the floor was scattered with cushions and pillows. Sollux looked up as Eridan came in and held up his wrists, to show his Master that they were manacled together the way he liked.  
"Fucking weakling," Sollux growled, "thith ith how you need it?"  
"Fuck you!" Eridan hit him, and Sollux folded. Eridan was strong, but Sollux was well versed in taking this punishment. His response was to stand back up again and smile.  
"You're loothing it," he taunted, "we never theem to fucking talk any more,"  
  
The hate crackled in the air between them, Sollux was obviously and vulgarly aroused by it. Eridan grabbed him in a tight clinch and brought his knee up violently between Sollux's thighs, earning himself a strangled scream from the slave, who started to claw at him frantically. The hate drove them up against each other, they kissed each other in purest hate, they tasted each other and cursed and spat. They threw each other around the room and lashed out. Sollux bored down on Eridan and pinned him on the floor, biting down on his collarbones hard enough that Eridan thought he heard something start to crackle. Sollux screamed and whimpered as Eridan held hot candles over his face and spilled the wax. Eridan cried out Feferi's name, and Sollux cajoled, taunted and threatened him until the hate smashed them together again.  
  
Afterward, they were curled up together in a loose pile of cushions. Eridan was shivering and whimpering softly, while Sollux swallowed over and over through a thick, bruised throat and tried to massage the life back into his limbs.  
"I fuckin' hate her, Sol,"  
"Not ath much ath you hate me."  
"I think that is true."  
"I fucking hatelove you Mathter,"  
"Thankyou."  
  
They dressed together in formal silence as the barriers between Master and slave came down inexorably once more. Sollux fetched his Master a drink and knelt beside him attentively.  
"Fuckin' Fef," Eridan grimaced.  
"What'th thith really all about?"  
"I think the Condesce finally decided that the Highblood is too powerful, this is just a fuckin' power play."  
"Tho Fef ith jutht... a pawn?"  
"No, pawns don't love the game like she does."  
"I thee why you hate her tho much."  
"Not as much as I hate you."  
Sollux smiled.  
  
In her own imperial chambers, Feferi reclined on a miniature throne that was a perfect duplicate of the one her patroness occupied aboard her imperial warship. She waved a hand over a milky glass globe mounted on the arm and the wall in front of her shimmered and faded, revealing an image of Her Imperious Condesce reclining in an almost identical pose. The elder looked at the younger, and the younger smiled up at the elder.  
"And so, my seed? What news?" The voice of the Condesce was lilting and kind, all the better to show her cruelty more obviously.  
"I persuaded the Grand Highblood, he will be leaving with his core of subjugglators as you ordered, there will be no dissent."  
"You make me so happy." The Condesce inclined her head slowly.  
"Thank you." Feferi met the awful gaze of her patroness.  
"What troubles you, child? Come, you can tell everything to me."  
"I had... a question."  
"Of course, ask."  
"The Highblood told me that," Feferi swallowed, "he implied that you and he were... close."  
"You mean, intimate?"  
"I- yes."  
The Condesce looked at her, and just smiled wider. Feferi recoiled slightly.  
"It's true then!"  
"I could entertain you all evening with tales from that history. Should I?"  
"Why would you? With him?" Feferi felt faintly ill.  
"Child, all that matters is what came of it. An empress can have only one secret heart, and she may give it only to the empire. Such feelings as I once had are long gone, now."  
"I understand."  
"Tell me, Feferi, what of the young prince?"  
"Gamzee?"  
"How is he? Is he well?"  
Feferi looked at the Condesce as if she were seeing a stranger for the first time, though this figure of absolute power and terror had been her protector and teacher and her only love through all her life.  
"You know about Gamzee?"  
"Of course," the Condesce laughed softly, "I have watched over his live with great interest. My child. Great interest."  
Feferi wanted to scream. She wanted to flee and hide. More then this, she wanted to confront the purple prince of the subjugglators. She knew then and there, that she had to see him again and soon.  
  
The next night, the subjugglators congregated to wish their Highblood well on his voyage to the War Glorious. There was a low keening moan from the swaying crowd of trolls who gathered at the entrance of their hive to watch as he departed. Gamzee was with him, and had never felt more small. The Highblood towered over him, and in the distance the massive squat bulk of an imperial transit shuttle hovered silently.  
"Be careful," said Gamzee quietly.  
"I will."  
"Don't fuckin' die."  
"I ain't scared of dyin'. But dyin's plenty scared of me."  
"Where are you even going?"  
"Earth. Some piece of shit planet the Condesce needs subjugglating."  
"You got the chucklevoodoos goin' with you."  
"And you got 'em here waitin' with you."  
Gamzee looked down, and the Highblood leaned over awkwardly to pat him on the back gently.  
"You're the purple prince, don't forget it."  
"I know.  
"I'll be seein' you soon. Hey, I'll bring you back somethin' nice for yore collection, how's that?"  
"Sure, that'd be pretty fuckin' nice."  
  
Gamzee stood a distance from the field as the ship lifted off silently into the night. Beside him, Tavros sighed and folded his arms tightly. Aradia stared up at the rising point of light, looking at something only she could describe. Karkat reached up and took his hand, squeezing it tightly.  
"Master."


End file.
